


Raw

by dancer_of_the_hellfire_rumba



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cute, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Smut, Sweet Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:48:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancer_of_the_hellfire_rumba/pseuds/dancer_of_the_hellfire_rumba
Summary: She's so nervous, so endlessly nervous, feels ripped apart, and she questions. Should she really? Is she ready to take the leap and feel as vulnerable as she does in front of him, while they're intertwined, together, one?
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Reader
Kudos: 25





	Raw

She wonders why every earth-stopping moment has to be silent. How can world-shattering, soul-crushing things be so so quiet? It feels like the world sorta stops turning for a moment, right as everything happens, like letting you take a breath to prepare for what's to come. 

One's thing for certain, she thinks. Silence doesn't help anxiety one bit. Her stomach is only dropping lower, her breath feels heavier, more difficult, and maybe a distraction, a couple words from his lips, a sigh,  _ anything _ , would shift her attention, not in her trembling hands, or overbearing, incredibly loud thoughts, but to him. 

Him. Sam. Oh,  _ Sam _ .

She questions herself. Is she really ready to do this? He's so close, they're barely hairs apart, and he's letting her choose if they'll move forward, if they'll stay in their little comfortable bubble, with brushing touches, neck kisses and small moans, or if they'll finally do more. Because she's been building herself up to this, she's felt all kinds of hot and bothered for him, she's  _ wanted _ to for the longest of time. But it's a big deal, s-sex is, and she feels beyond nervous.

She's familiar with the feeling of readiness. Like- like she can puff her chest out internally, step her foot on the ground firmly and take steps forward, level up, without allowing herself to think much, because she'll back out. 

He knows this. Because of course he does, because why the fuck wouldn't he. If anyone on this God forsaken planet can tell, can read that on her face, on her still hands, the crease between her brows and the shallow breaths that hit the fabric of his shirt so softly, it's him. It's him and his patient hands, his kind eyes, the lips that are now softly closed, sealed together in a valiant effort to not break her moment, to let her decide, let her figure it out, give her space. 

And he's right here. And the motel room's quiet as it's ever been, tiny as usual, just a bed and a kitchenette, a small closet and a balcony door that looks out to the road. It's just quiet. Only a horn or two sounding from below, passing cars, transport, just them. The center of the world it feels like, yet no one knows. No one would know if something were to happen here, tonight. No one else but them would understand how the universe feels like it's caving in on itself, how closing the gap would feel like they're making history, creating a whole new number of constellations, more important than anything space and time has ever seen. 

It's time, she thinks. And it's a simple thought that brings her to that realization. How she knows his hands are at his sides, but how her waist feels cold and empty without them. She wants his hands on her body, really, genuinely wants it, yearns for it. In this moment in time, nothing truly would feel better than to press as close to him as possible, let his skin become hers, let his air be her own, get so close, so slow, they will confuse where he ends and she begins. A feeling this intense, she reasons, it can't be for nothing. It can't be an opportunity to just be ignored, passed by. It's time. Yes, it really is. 

She oughtn't think of it anymore. Come on, she thinks, just  _ do it _ . Whatever do you have to lose? 

Her knuckles tighten, whiten, fist his shirt, and he looks over her closer. She can't meet his eyes, it's too much, takes too much effort, makes her feel more exposed and naked than ever before, more ripped open and vulnerable than she has ever felt, so much she thinks she may as well die, because this feeling that her heart is beating through her veins, feels very much like what she would imagine a heart attack would feel like. 

She wants to though. And that's just more proof that it really is time. She wants to look at his eyes, straight into his soul if she can, and feel as ripped open as she does, let him see her. 

She leans her head back. 

Their eyes lock. 

If it wasn't quiet before, well now the world is as silent as empty countryside. It's just them in the world. With such quietness, it must be just them. 

She steps closer. Breathes. Leans up. 

And then their lips lock. And it feels like the universe clicks into place, softly, because the rawness is still there, but his hands are on her face and she breathes again, and it's not fast, it's just right, it's intimate and close and patient. Tentatively swiping her tongue against his own, pulling away and going right back in again, because she really does want that. 

And when their lips feel numb they pull away and she looks down, looks at her still hands, having remained on his chest, and she takes a deep breath. Let's him watch as she slowly, so fucking slowly toys with the button and pushes it open. Biting at her lip, going to the next one, pulling that open. Unbuttoning until a long line of skin shines through the fabric. Hesitating only for a moment before her hands are pushing it aside just a little and touching the skin of his chest, flat against it. She breathes out, watching carefully as his torso rises and falls. 

His hands go to her waist, and she looks up, at him, watching her. She leans up to catch his lips again. 

Everything feels augmented, his touch feels a hundred times hotter, his lips a hundred times sweeter, he's so patient, so kind, so true, so close to everything she's ever dreamed of, she wants to cry at how lucky she is to have him here, in her arms. 

Hands slowly crawling up his neck, on the sides of his face, pulling him this much closer, an 'umph' huffed out through his nose. He walks her slowly backwards, onto the bed, hand at her waist to lower her slowly onto it. 

There's an inherent need to have him as close as humanly possible, so she spreads her thighs and pulls him by the belt loop to sit between them, as she crawls up the bed, head on the pillows. 

They're alternating between kisses, his lips escaping sometimes and kissing the corner of her mouth, mouthing at her jaw, nipping at her neck, and- has it always felt like this? So intense? So hot? She's not sure, but she doesn't much care, nervous thoughts being pushed aside as much as she can muster, as his hand pushes her shirt slowly up her torso to rest on her naked side, fingers stroking the skin of her stomach. 

She feels paralyzed, but she knows one thing for sure. Right now, if nothing else, she wants his skin on hers. 

Hands pulling at her blouse frantically, she needs it off  _ yesterday _ , and her fingers are almost shaking with it, the panic to just get  _ on _ with it. Sam helps her, calm and steady, significantly more collected than her. And when her top is off, and she's laying there underneath him in nothing but her bra and jeans, she feels like her chest is ripped open, stripped and bare. She doesn't know what to do with all these emotions.

Sam lowers himself over her and kisses her slow, calming her just a sliver, because it's  _ Sam, _ just Sam, the man she's in love with, the man she would take a bullet for, the man she'd be willing to give anything up for without a second's hesitation, it's fine, she's  _ fine _ , and she has to do this. 

He pulls his own shirt completely off his shoulders now, and it feels like she's been doused with cold water to feel his warm skin against hers. His mouth descends from her lips down the columns of her neck, all over her skin, nipping, kissing, licking, doing all kinds of sinful things with that mouth of his and- and  _ moaning _ on occasion, as if he's a starved man devouring his last hot meal. Her eyes have shut, because she's not sure she's ready to see him and deal with this turmoil of emotions, this- this chaotic tornado of nervous energy. 

" _ Baby _ ." Her toes curl involuntarily. She grips the sheets a little tighter. "Hey," he murmurs, elbow going back next to her head, other hand pushing some strands of hair away from her face, and she only just now realized he's stopped kissing her. "You're trembling," he says gently, not stopping his gentle touches, down her side, as if sweeping all the bad away, thumb making small, comforting circles. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She is trembling, it's true. But- she can't-  _ won't _ let her cowardice get in the way of this moment. She's determined now. This is it. She wants this. 

"I'm, uh," swallowing, "I'm terribly nervous." It's quiet and hesitant, between a thoughtful bite of her lips. "But I want this. I want  _ you _ ." Hands unfisting the sheets and crawling up his back, pushing some hairs away from his stunning, green eyes, as a smile curls his lips upwards. "I'm here, I love you. I promise, I'm okay." 

He stays above her for a second, admiring her just a little, and she wraps her legs around him, pulling him tighter against her. Sam lets out a surprised huff, eyes glazing over with whatever dirty thought is in his head. 

He kisses her, slower even, ever present, returning his own I Love You in a swipe of his tongue, hand descending slowly over her crotch, delivering calculated pressure right where she needs it.

"Sam," she says breathily, and he seems to like that, replacing his hand with his own hardness, grinding against her clothed core, lips crawling down her neck to suck on a previously placed love bite. 

Yeah. She's ready.

  
  
  



End file.
